


Prompt

by orphan_account



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Bullying, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-18
Updated: 2015-06-18
Packaged: 2018-04-05 01:37:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4160718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tumblr Prompt that grew into something longer: Someone makes Swerve feel insecure about his size and appearance, Skids comforts him, then stands up for his friend. Or at least, he tries to...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Prompt

**Author's Note:**

> I'm still taking prompts. If you'd like to suggest something - drop my tumblr inbox a message, thanks :D

He heard them, as Swerve finished serving their table and was walking away, the mechs thought he wouldn’t be listening, but Swerve was aware of all the things they said: the nasty little jibes, the slander of his personality and the cruel comments they made about his frame.

Swerve thought about turning sharpish, confronting the rabble, revoking their drinks with no refund and demanding they apologise. But what would be the point? There were five of them, and they were all bigger than Swerve. He had no backup, and worst of all they were probably right.

He was just a  _dumpy mouth on legs,_ only he wasn’t nearly as desperate as they claimed him to be in order to act a part in all of their sick scenarios.

Swerve couldn’t decide what was worse, the fact that they imagined him doing the things their described with people, or the fact that it was all _pure_  fiction and no one would ever want to do any of those raunchy things with Swerve.

The double tap wounded Swerve deep and he couldn’t face staring at his reflection for too long in the metal drink’s tray because it only made him feel worse. Swerve carried the tray at his side where it couldn’t wink at him and mock him. As he walked, Swerve felt drips of overflowed energon abandon the tray and trickle down his leg and most likely splash onto the floor too, which Ultra Magnus would likely call a slipping hazard. Swerve realised he should probably mop up the mess. Maybe that was for the best, that he just carry on and pretend like his own customers weren’t making fun of him.

Nothing helped, and by the time Swerve stepped behind the bar again, he felt like mould.

“Oi Swerve!” Skids summoned, waving his hand in the air and in it was an empty pitcher, “Get on down here!”

Swerve’s visor was wide and baleful. He liked Skids, quite a lot more than he probably should because Skids was cool and exciting, he was the right height and had the right frame. He fitted in well. He kept good company with the same mechs that mocked Swerve’s  _thunder thighs._ For all Swerve knew, Skids could be just as cynical of Swerve’s body as the rest of  _them_ , he just did a better job at disguising his distaste and fool Swerve into thinking they were friends.

It was glum thought, and a pressing need to escape forced Swerve to abandon his duties behind the bar and rush into the back room.

Between thick canisters of engex and crates full of spare glassware, Swerve found a safe space to sit down for a moment.  _Just for a second_ , he assured himself. His business wouldn’t run itself. The bar _needed_  him. It was the only place where Swerve mattered and  _all_  the mechs in there  _hated_ him.

Breathing got harder, his spark pulses became tight and painful. Swerve leaned against a secure stack of crates and then slowly let his legs slide out from under him, until he was sitting and holding onto a glass he hadn’t realised he’d pulled in from the bar when his subconscious had thought about jumping into action and serving Skids. Because people liked him better when he brought them stuff.

Swerve shook his head, a whine of despair pushed up his throat and he threw the glass away from him, regretting doing so immediately as he heard it shatter. The storage room was dark so he could see where the broken glass was lying to avoid it.

“Hey, hey! Swerve!” Swerve didn’t realise that Skids was already in the room and had come creeping behind the bar to find its only member of staff when he’d been gone for more than five minutes. The mounting crowd hanging over the counter was only part of reason Skids had come searching. It wasn’t uncommon for Skids to help out on busy nights, he knew Swerve’s system, but working a bar alone was never as fun when the little minibot wasn’t around.

He found Swerve skulking in the moodiest corner of the glum room, drawn towards the sounds of smashed glass and anguish.  

“Hey,” Skids said softly, crouching down next to Swerve, “hey, what’s the matter?”

Swerve didn’t want to be blubbering in front of anyone, especially not Skids. He tried rubbing away the static that filled his optics, but his effort came undone when he tried to speak.

“Nuh-nothing.”

“Are you hurt?” Skids suspected the glass, but there wasn’t a mark on Swerve’s hands when he picked them up to inspect. Swerve took his hands back and hugged them across his middle.

“No,” it wasn’t the sort of  _hurt_  Swerve wanted to flaunt.

“Come on, Swerve,” Skids sat down beside him, “Tell me what happened.”

Swerve wasn’t a natural at keeping secrets, it was hardly shocking, and the temptation to talk was too much.

“People hate me because I’m short and ugly!”

“What?” Skids would’ve laughed if Swerve wasn’t genuinely upset. He forced himself to keep his disbelief under control, “Why would you think that?”

“Because I heard them saying it!”

“Who?” Skids tried to keep calm when Swerve turned loud and angry.

“Atomiser and a few other mechs at his table. I…I, I haven’t done  _anything_  to them and they… they thought I couldn’t hear them. Didn’t wait very long to start making comments though, I was only ‘bout seven steps from their table.” Swerve sniffed hard.

“Pay no attention to them.”

“But is it true?! Am I… am I just a  _nuisance_ to everyone, is everyone saying the same thing behind my back? All I,” Swerve gasped, “All I wanted w-was friends, I thought I’d - I’d stopped being the  _reject._ But it’s not true! Nothing’s changed.” Swerve buried his face in his hands and squeaked, “I don’t know what I’m doing wrong.”

“Hey,” Skids made more soft sounds and wrapped one arm across Swerve’s shoulders when they began to shake, pulling the little mech close, “Aren’t we friends?”

Swerve pulled his head out of his hands and squinted up at Skids,

“Are we?”

Skids brayed with more disbelief and yanked Swerve tighter to his chest.

“Of course we are! I was worried when I saw you come back here, I thought you might have thought I was being rude when I called you over, I only wanted a chat, really.”

“Oh,” Swerve sniffed, “I’m sorry, I let them get to me and”-

“Swerve, listen to me. You’ve got  _nothing_  to apologise for. Don’t let those idiots get in your head.”

“But they’re right, I am short and”-

“AH-AH!” Skids interrupted, wrapping his large palm across Swerve’s mouth and nose. Swerve inhaled the aroma of grease and the sticky bar counter, “I will not hear that. Swerve, you  _are_ short, but that doesn’t matter, I like short, short is good for…for,” Skids glanced down, lingering on Swerve’s mouth and round bottom lip, “…lots of stuff…” Skids continued softly, and had to shake himself before he dived into something stupid. He quickly renewed his vigour, “But yeah! You’re not… you’re not ugly either Swerve. Not to me,” Skids tried to smile, but a rare feeling of nervousness made the gesture wobble, “Don’t let those aft holes lie to you.”

“It’s not just them though, I think it too.”

Skids leaned back, frowning hard,

“Why?”

“Because look at me!” Swerve wobbled to his feet, dragging himself out of Skids’ embrace and gestured to the flaws that glared back in his reflection everyday, “I give them a reason to mock me just for being the way I am. None of this is ever going to change and make me more likeable.”

Skids’ followed Swerve into standing, and stared down the long distance between them, frowning at the short, worrisome mech with the wildly flapping hands.

“Good. Because I like you for you, and I don’t like the mechs that make you feel bad being yourself. So,” Skids swallowed, and gasped his angry impulses firmly before they could escape and make him see the rationale he didn’t want to acknowledge, “…if you’ll excuse me.”

Swerve flinched, sobriety rushing at him, and stealing all the room in his processor away from self-pity.

“W-Where’re you going?”

“I’m just gunna have a chat with the mechs, nothing to worry about.”

But Swerve was worried, and his ridiculously dumpy legs had no hope of catching up with Skids striding pace as Swerve chased after him. Skids was already at Atomiser’s table by the time Swerve waddled back into the bar, he had the pleasure of watching Skids take up Atomiser’s glass, swill the energon a few times and spill the contents all over Atomiser’s head.

Hush washed over the bar. Atomiser hunched up tightly as chilled, sticky energon seeped into his crevices

“Not so tough now are you! Huh? Go on, get out of here!” Atomiser and his crowd stood and shuffled out of their booth, but instead of immediately retreating with their heads hung low, Atomiser, with his dripping fist, thumped Skids square on the nose.

The room gasped. Skids stumbled back and slouched forward, pinching his nose after a few drops of his energon had already hit the floor.

“Cocky glitch,” Atomiser spat, “We’re going to Visages, it’s got better vibes than this dump.”

Though he might not have solved the problem as he’d intended, after watching Atomiser and his horde leave, Skids triumphantly dragged himself over to bar and spread himself across the counter in front of Swerve, bringing his aching head to rest.

“Can I have a tissue, please?” The dribble of energon sliding out of his nose was spreading down his chin.

“Skids!” Swerve’s hands were on Skids’ heavy, dizzy helm, lifting him up and dabbed a dubiously clean serviette under Skids’ nose, “Why did you do that?! What were you thinking?!”

“Oh don’t mind me,” Skids was getting a little tired and they should probably call for Ratchet soon, but first he had to let Swerve know, “You’re worth it.”  


End file.
